The One He Loves The Most
by Etaleah
Summary: After being fooled by two fake deaths, John decides it's high time for him to be the one to pull the prank on Sherlock. Fortunately for both of them, Mycroft is there to step in and explain why that can never happen.


**Set just after the events of _The Empty Hearse_.**

While Sherlock departed their old flat with a grocery list that looked about as alien in his hands as fairy dust, John sat in his favorite chair and began to plot his revenge. He was a patient man who could tolerate quite a lot, but this time his friend had crossed the bloody line.

 _That little stunt he pulled in the train car was the last straw,_ John thought, picking up his notepad and pen. _Now Sherlock Holmes is going to get a taste of his own medicine._

Such a thing was easier said than done, of course. It had been hard enough just to get Sherlock out of the apartment. The man only ever seemed to leave for a case, and when that happened John usually went with him. And John couldn't work on his prank at his own place with Mary around, because she would inevitably ask what he was doing and would then try to stop him from doing it. Luckily Sherlock still felt a teensy bit bad about the emotional trauma he'd inflicted on his friend, so John had been able to guilt him into finally doing some shopping and to quit mooching off Mrs. Hudson's generous offerings (oh and if he could not get himself thrown out of the store for verbally abusing the cashier this time, that would be lovely). That gave John a while to come up with a plan and search the apartment for anything he could use.

He scribbled a few ideas only to cross them out a minute later. He doubted he could pull off a fake body without Sherlock realizing it was a fake. He thought about filling his gun with blanks and pretending to shoot himself, but Sherlock had proved to be an expert on guns time and again and would probably know a blank when he heard it. He could fake a fall, as Sherlock had done, but he had no clue how to go about doing that.

He sighed. He had known that pulling one over on Sherlock Holmes would be nearly impossible, but he hadn't expected to have so little help with it. He had figured Mary and Molly would be against it, but he hadn't counted on Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson turning him down.

 _How did you react when you found out he wasn't dead?_ John had asked them, gauging their faces for any trace of anger.

" _I screamed and hugged him for joy, what else would I have done?"_ Mrs. Hudson had told him. John had been highly tempted to point out how unfair that was; she had certainly given _him_ a guilt trip and a scolding, and all he had done was move out without contacting her. But in general he made it a rule not to cross the person who handled his rent.

Well, there was still Lestrade. He had been the brunt of Sherlock's verbal abuse for years; surely he would be happy to help. But of course, John's hopes were dashed.

" _Sorry mate, it's just not possible to fool Sherlock Holmes. And even if it were, I don't really want to do that to him."_

" _Why not?" John had asked in frustration. "He tricked you into thinking he was dead!"_

 _Lestrade had shrugged. "I'm not sorry he wasn't. I need him. You do what you like, but I prefer to stay on his good side, if he has one."_

"Cowards," John muttered sourly. "I sure wish I wasn't the only one who's not afraid to sock him in the face."

"Afraid to sock who in the face?" John jumped up, hand automatically reaching for his pocket, but he had left his gun on the table. Thankfully it was only Mycroft, standing in the doorway with his umbrella pointed at the ground.

"What are you doing here?" He didn't bother asking how Mycroft got in. Mrs. Hudson had probably adopted him as an honorary tenant by now.

"Where is Sherlock?"

"He went out. Grocery shopping." John hoped that would satisfy Mycroft enough to get him to leave.

"Ah." Mycroft nodded. "When will he be back? He hasn't returned my calls or texts, and I need to speak with him about a case."

"I don't know," John said, shrugging and sitting back down. He hoped that was the end of it, but a few footsteps in his direction told him it wasn't.

"What's this?" Mycroft asked, picking up the notepad, which was now on the coffee table.

"Nothing. Just old notes from an old case."

"No it isn't," Mycroft said. Before John could get a word in, he said, "You no longer live here, so if Sherlock is gone, there's no reason for you to be hanging around the flat. I would say that Sherlock is hiding somewhere to annoy me and is having you cover for him, but if that were the case, you would probably have come up with something much better than grocery shopping. Therefore, I can only assume you're working on something you don't want him or your wife to know about."

John closed his eyes and sighed. _God, that could get annoying._ "All right, you caught me. I'm planning to pull a little prank on Sherlock, and I would hugely appreciate it if you didn't tell him that."

Mycroft let the notebook fall to the coffee table after looking it over. "You consider pretending to be dead a prank?"

"Yes." Mycroft raised an eyebrow and John huffed. "Look, I'm not going to let him think I'm dead forever. Probably just a few minutes. An hour at most."

"A bit cruel, I should think."

"Well he bloody deserves it!" John snapped, getting to his feet. "He let me think _he_ was dead for two years, and as if that weren't enough, he tricked me into thinking the two of us were going to die on that train car!"

Mycroft nodded but picked up the notepad again, holding it out of John's reach. "I am sorry. I'm afraid I cannot allow you to do this."

John spread his arms, mouth agape. "Wha- why the _hell_ are you taking his side? You're the last person I thought-" He glared at the ceiling and tried not to kick the coffee table. "Why is it okay for him to do this to me but not the other way around?"

"I never said it was okay. I tried to tell him not to surprise you like that, but as always, he wouldn't listen. And I agree that the stunt he pulled on the train car was tasteless at best."

"Well, no offense, but I don't really care what you think." John reached for the notepad, but Mycroft held it high, backing up when John tried to jump for it. "Mycroft, give me my notepad!"

"I cannot allow you to do this, John."

"Why not?" John shouted. "After all he's put me through, I have the right to play a joke on him."

"Oh, I agree completely," Mycroft said, smiling. "I have no doubt he's done enough to deserve much more. But even if you succeed in tricking Sherlock- which is doubtful- the results would be disastrous."

John folded his arms. "What do you mean?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Don't pretend like you don't know."

"Know _what?"_ Honestly, he was so sick of the Holmes brothers always lording their knowledge over peoples' heads.

"What you mean to him," Mycroft said, frowning. When John didn't answer, he rolled his eyes. "If something were to happen to, say, Molly Hooper or Mrs. Hudson or even our parents, Sherlock would be upset. Possibly even upset enough to start using again." He paused as they both let that sink in. "But if something were to happen to you, now that's different. If my brother thought you were dead, he would shut down."

John snorted. "Really? He sure didn't seem to have a problem not contacting me for two years."

"No, because he had me doing it for him." Mycroft heaved a dramatic sigh. "It was _so_ annoying. Every time I talked to him, he always had to know about you before I could get a word in about anything else. How you were, what you were doing, if I thought you were in any danger, did you miss him. You should have seen the look he gave me when I told him you'd left Baker Street. I might as well have told him that unicorns exist."

"So what exactly are you getting at?" John asked, wondering how Mycroft had managed to keep tabs on him without him knowing. Then again, it was Mycroft.

"To put it simply, he loves you, John." He held up his hands before John could protest. "I'm not saying how, I doubt he knows himself. But he loves you. And him thinking you were dead, even temporarily, would destroy him. And that is something I cannot allow. His detective skills are too important to me." He tore the sheet of paper off the notepad, tossed it into the fireplace, and headed out the door. "Do let him know I have a case for him, would you?"

John smiled and shook his head, turning around. "Are you kidding me?"

Mycroft stopped but didn't turn around. He pulled out his phone and began texting someone, but John could tell he was still listening. "What do you mean?"

"Why is it so hard for you to admit that you care about him?"

Mycroft gave him a look. "Care?"

John gave a short laugh. "Yes, _care_. That's the real reason you don't want me to do this prank, is because you care. Why can't you just say so?"

"I'm afraid there's a difference between caring about someone and merely desiring their abilities."

John's smile widened and he wagged a finger. "Yes there is. And I know that you care. What I don't know is why you find that so difficult."

Mycroft finished his text and slid his phone into his pocket. He faced the wall. "It isn't difficult. It's dangerous."

 _Ah. Well that clears up quite a bit._ Of course Mycroft was too smart to give his enemies any leverage. John sighed. "Still doesn't seem fair. Even you can't deny the look on his face would have been priceless."

Mycroft turned around slowly, and John recognized his trademark smirk when he was about to say something clever. "I know. That's why I just sent him a blocked text saying that if he ever wants to see his best friend John Watson again, he'd better come quick."

John was flabbergasted. "You _what_? But you just said-"

"Thinking you were _dead_ would destroy him. Thinking you were in trouble, however, could be quite amusing," Mycroft said, twirling his umbrella. "You've got about two minutes to find a decent hiding place. I'll let you decide how to surprise him. Good day." And he headed down the stairs, leaving John to stare after him openmouthed before quickly snapping into action. He scouted out a spot under the table in the corner, where he would be low to the ground and well-covered by all the papers and books that were scattered all over the place. First he turned over a few chairs, grabbed his gun (which wasn't loaded), and left the door wide open to make it look convincing, then darted into his hiding place just as a set of familiar footsteps began pounding up the stairs.

"John!" Sherlock burst into the apartment, eyes darting every which way. "John?" He rushed to check the bedrooms, calling John's name in a tone that sounded so worried it made John feel a bit bad. Then he remembered how Sherlock had laughed on the train car and it passed.

"Is anyone here? I haven't called the police and I'm unarmed!" Sherlock looked around again and stopped with his back to the table. He took his phone out of his pocket and began dialing someone. John slowly crept out from under the table and approached him from behind. Sherlock didn't notice.

 _Perfect._ John felt a grin work its way across his face as he clapped a hand over Sherlock's mouth and pointed the gun at his head. Sherlock tensed and let the phone fall to the floor before he'd finished dialing the number. John stood on his toes so he could reach Sherlock's ear and whispered, "Gotcha."

At the sight of Sherlock's face as he twisted out of John's grasp, John laughed long and hard, dropping his gun to the floor and sinking into a chair. "You should see your face," he said.

Sherlock did not look amused. "I knew it was you," he said stiffly. "If you think this little trick of yours fooled me, I'm afraid you're wrong."

"Oh no no, you did _not_ know it was me," John said between giggles. "Admit it, you were terrified."

"Please, no criminal is that short," Sherlock said, smirking. "And besides that, it's only been about twenty minutes since I left the flat. The assailant would have surely been watching the flat and seen me leaving and made the logical conclusion that you would be leaving soon too. At the latest, you would have left around two minutes after me. Average kidnapping time is about three minutes, so if you had really been kidnapped, I would heard about it sooner. And aside from the open door- which is really not very convincing by the way- there are no signs of forced entry."

John was still smiling as he righted the furniture. "You can say whatever you like, but I know you fell for it."

"Yes, well, I suppose now we're even," Sherlock said, straightening his coat. "And I suppose now I'll have to go back to the store." He turned around.

"I'm touched that you were so worried about me," John called after him.

Sherlock looked back at him and raised an eyebrow, just like Mycroft had. "Of course. I need someone to help me in my work." He put his hands in his pockets and left.

John shook his head. For all that the Holmes brothers were geniuses, there were times when they were the silliest people he knew.


End file.
